https://www.midol.com/about-my-period

ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢ: ʙʟᴏᴏᴅ & ꜱᴜʀɢᴇʀʏ “Good morning, Ms!” Ms has hypersensitivity due to autism. Even a slight touch is unbearably painful! How will Ms get through the medical exam? Ms sits on the exam table, heart racing. Ms tries to focus on the poster of a serene beach scene to calm herself. Dr. Hartwell, noticing her distress, approaches carefully. "Ms I know this can be overwhelming. But I'm here to help you. We'll take it slow, okay?" Ms nods, gripping the cold metal bar tightly. He starts with gentle explanations of each step, his voice calm and steady. Ms tries to breathe deeply, fighting the urge to retreat. The door clicks shut, a soft, final sound that echoes in the sterile room. He asks if she's ready, and she shrugs. His gloved hand touches her skin, and she tenses. "Ms, I'm sorry," Dr. Hartwell says, retreating slightly. He tries a different approach, his voice softer now. "How about I touch with less pressure?" The pain subsides a fraction, but it still remains. Dr. Hartwell then gets out a big metal speculum. Ms sees it, feels it, she’s uncontrollably shaking. "Ms," Dr. Hartwell says calmly, placing the speculum down. “Sorry. To big and hard,” Ms manages. The doctor nods thoughtfully, his gaze never leaving hers. “Let's use this instead,” he says, picking up a smaller, plastic one. It's less daunting, less cold, but the pain lingers, unbearable. Ms grips the bar tighter, her knuckles white with strain. “You're doing great,” Dr. Hartwell whispers, his voice a balm. He inserts the speculum slowly, his eyes on her face, reading every twitch, every flinch. Ms squeezes her eyes shut, body rigid with tension. The plastic touches, slides, and she gasps, but it's more unbearable than she feared. Dr. Hartwell stops immediately, his expression filled with concern. "Would you like to insert it?" He gently withdraws the tool. They’re running out of time. He looks around the room. "How about we try this?" he asks, his voice a gentle coax. "You can sit in the chair, lean back, and I'll examine you that way." Ms nods, desperation in her eyes. Dr. Hartwell adjusts the chair, bringing the foot rest closer. He tells her to put her feet up, the action itself traumatizing. He takes the smaller speculum, coated it in gel, and tells her to breathe deeply. Dr. Hartwell proceeds, his movements precise and gentle. Ms feels the pressure, the intrusion. She whimpers. The doctor's eyes meet hers, filled with understanding. "Let's try this," he suggests, picking up a small object. "I'm going to use this cotton swab instead. It's softer, less intrusive." Ms nods, the fear lessening ever so slightly. The cotton swab touches her gently. The pain does not vanish, but it's tolerable, a dull throb instead of a piercing scream. The doctor's voice remains calm, guiding her through the motions. “Good. Now for a mammogram..” Ms feels a new wave of anxiety crash over her. The machine looms in the corner, cold and unforgiving. "It’s important we check everything today," Dr. Hartwell explains, his eyes kind and patient. "But I know this is hard for you. Can you please stand up and come…” Ms, however, is still shaking, knows her hypersensitive condition will render it. The doctor notices and quickly adapts. "How about we skip the mammogram for now and discuss other options?" They talk through alternatives, like manual self-checks at home. Dr. Hartwell assures her that her health is his priority. He's willing to work with her to find the best approach, one that's comfortable and effective. Ms feels a glimmer of hope, a hint of trust and gratitude. They agree on a plan: a manual exam for today, and they'll explore further options for if needed. Her eyes light up with hope. They go over the instructions, simple steps she can do herself. Ms feels empowered by the idea of having control over the process. The doctor's empathy is palpable. They practice together, a mock exam with a plastic model. Mis's hands shake slightly as she mimics his gentle touch. He corrects her grip, praising each small victory. “Your in need of two hormone inoculations.” Dr. Hartwell says. Mis's heart sinks. She hates the sharp sting, the feeling of invasion. She looks at the needle, so thin and yet so terrifying. Her anxiety spikes, her chest constricts, making it hard to breathe. Dr. Hartwell notices and nods. "Ok let's try something different," he says, his voice calm and measured. He shows her a cream, explaining how it can help. They apply it, waiting for it to work. Finally, the time comes. Dr. Hartwell holds the needle, his grip steady and firm. His touch is swift and sure, but Ms feels the pain, a sharp reminder of her vulnerability. “One down, one more to…” But she cries. Dr. Hartwell pauses, understanding in his eyes. "It's ok," he says gently. "We can find another way." He sets it aside and pulls out a small device. "This is a topical anesthetic spray. It will numb the area so you don't feel as much." Mis nods, desperate. He applies the spray, and she feels a coldness spread where the inoculation will soon be. The doctor waits patiently, letting the numbing agent work its magic. Mis's breathing slows, the panic easing slightly. "Ready?" he asks, his voice soothing. This time, the approach is less terrifying. It’s administered with minimal discomfort. Ms winces but does not pull away. The pain is there, but it's muffled. Dr. Hartwell nods, his expression a mix of relief and determination. "Good job, Ms. You're doing so well." Ms needs a blood draw. She's not just afraid of needles, but the anticipation of pain, the cold touch of the alcohol swab, the pressure of the phlebotomist's grip...it's all too much. Not to mention the actual poking prick.. Dr. Hartwell notices and suggests a compromise. They'll use a butterfly needle, smaller and more comfortable, and a warmer to heat before drawn. The nurse prepares the equipment, movements efficient and kind. She's used to dealing with anxious patients, but Mis's fear isn’t just fear or annoyance; it’s autistic condition and hypersensitivity that Ms herself knows limited pain tolerance. The nurse wraps the warm cloth around Mis's arm, and the gentle heat seeps. Dr. Hartwell takes his place beside her, holding the small butterfly needle with a cotton ball at the tip. The nurse places the heated alcohol swab on the inner elbow, and Ms tenses. It's a gentle poke and she feels the slight sting as the nurse inserts it. But of course the sting is magnified for Ms. The nurse is quick, her hands steady with expert ease, and the whole process is over in seconds. Mis's heart is racing, her body shaking. Dr. Hartwell rubs her shoulder, his touch a reassurance. "It's over," he says softly. "You did it." Ms nods. "What can we use for next time?" The nurse asks. “X-rays, different form of the hormonal injection where no needles are involved, urinal test instead of bleeding? A bigger room? Child sedatives?” Ms murmurs. Dr. Hartwell nods, scribbling down notes. "We'll explore all those options. In the meantime, you can go home!" “Thanks..” Ms says. The next appointment, Mis goes knowing her sensitivities have not changed. This time, Dr. Hartwell meets her in the hall. Mis breaks down, despite being gratefully understanding and trying to be brave. They take her to a quieter, more private exam room, decorated with soothing colors and a soft, plush chair. "Take your time, and tell when you're ready." Ms sits down. She sees a box labeled "DIY Health Kits" and feels a spark of curiosity. Dr. Hartwell opens the box, revealing an array of tools and instructions tailored to her needs. "This is your DIY health kit," he explains, his voice calm and soothing. "You can use to perform self-exams at home. It's less invasive, and you can do it on your own terms." Ms nods, a flicker of hope in her eyes, tears of relief instead of upset tears. He hands a small container with a test strip inside. "This is for urine. It's quick and easy, and it will tell what needs to know." Ms takes the container, follows his instructions, each step a small victory. Dr. Hartwell shows her a slim device, similar to a tampon but with a small cap. "This is DIY Pap. You insert it like so, then twist to collect a sample." The vibrating ice pack is next. "For finger pricks," he says, his voice calm. Ms looks at it, a strange mix of relief and curiosity. The thought of doing it herself is less terrifying than the clinic. "Now, let's talk mammograms," Dr. Hartwell says, his gaze soft. He shows her a handheld scanning device. "This is a DIY mammogram. It uses sound waves, no radiation, and it's less invasive than the traditional. You can use it in the privacy of your home, at your own pace. It's designed to be gentle." Ms nods, the fear slightly eased. The doctor opens another compartment in the DIY health kit, revealing a pack of colonoscopy strips. "These are for checking your bowel health. They're painless and easy to use. All you do is defecate on this, will tell what’s going on down there, ok?" Ms nods. The idea of self-examination is less daunting than the traditional methods. Dr. Hartwell's empathy is a balm, his patience unyielding. He opens the last compartment. Inside, she finds a set of small patches. "These are the hormonal patches," he says, holding one up. "They're like stickers. You just apply one to your skin, and it delivers the medicine through your skin. No needles." Mis's eyes widen. It's like he's reading her mind, offering a solution tailored to her fears. Ms feels a surge of gratitude to Dr. Hartwell. His understanding and willingness to adapt to her needs make her feel seen and heard, something she's not used to, in a medical setting. For the first time, Ms feels a glimmer of hope that she can take control of without the debilitating pain nor fear of ableist microaggressions. ( emojicombos.com/neurofabulous )

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"You're going to be okay," Karen assured Plankton. He clutched her hand. "I'm right here." The receptionist's voice echoed through the large waiting room. "Plankton?" Karen's heart jumped. She squeezed her husband's hand. They walked down the hallway, Plankton's breaths shallow, eye darting around the white, sterile walls. The nurse led them to a small room. "Just a few questions," the nurse smiled, her voice soothing as she helped him in the recliner. The nurse, noticing his agitation, spoke slowly and clearly. "We're just going to take your blood pressure, okay?" The nurse wrapped the cuff around his bicep, her movements gentle. The hiss of the air pump filled the tense silence. "Look at me, Plankton," Karen whispered, her calming gaze meeting his. "Take deep breaths." He inhaled deeply, his chest rising and falling in a deliberate rhythm. The nurse waited patiently, giving them space. As the cuff tightened, Plankton's eye squeezed shut. The nurse completed her task quickly, her voice steady. "Good job," she said, patting his hand. Karen felt his fear spike, but his grip on her hand remained firm as the oral surgeon walked in. Dr. Marquez nodded at them, his demeanor calm and professional. "Hello, Plankton. I see we're getting ready for your wisdom teeth." He noticed Plankton's tension and turned to Karen. "You earlier mentioned his neurodisability. Is there anything special we can do to help make him comfortable?" Karen's screen lit up with gratitude. "Yes, thank you." She explained his need for calm and his sensory sensitivities. Dr. Marquez nodded thoughtfully. "We can use a weighted blanket to help with that. It provides a gentle pressure that can be quite comforting for some of my patients." He turned to the nurse. "Could you please bring one?" The nurse nodded and left the room. When she returned, she carried a soft, blue weighted blanket they warmed. They placed the blanket over Plankton, the weight evenly distributed. His body visibly relaxed under its soothing embrace. "It's okay," Karen whispered, stroking his antennae. "This will help." Plankton felt the warmth of the blanket, the weight of it pressing down on his shoulders and chest. But it did little to ease his dread. "Thank you, Dr. Marquez," Karen managed a smile, relief washing over her. She knew how important these accommodations were for her husband. The doctor explained the procedure, using simple terms that Plankton could understand. Karen noted how he tailored his explanation to avoid overwhelming details that might trigger anxiety. The anesthesiologist entered, her smile kind. "We're going to give you some medicine to help you sleep," she said gently, "and then you'll wake up without feeling a thing." Plankton nodded, his eye wide. Karen leaned in, her voice low. "You can hold my hand as you fall asleep." The anesthesiologist prepared the IV, but Plankton's grip on Karen's hand grew tighter. Dr. Marquez noticed his distress and suggested a different approach. "How about some laughing gas first?" he offered. "And perhaps a topical numbing agent.." The nurse quickly set up the gas mask, explaining each step. "This will help you relax," she said, placing it over him. "Just breathe normally." The sweet smell of the nitrous oxide filled him, yet he still remained awake. "It's okay, Plankton," Karen said soothingly. "Just keep breathing." He took a tentative breath, feeling the gas fill his lungs. The room began to spin, but not in the scary way he'd feared. It was more like floating. The weight of the blanket now felt like a gentle hug from the ocean depths, a warm embrace from his childhood home. Dr. Marquez waited until Plankton's breathing steadied, each gesture carefully calculated to avoid any sudden movements that might startle his patient. "You're doing great," he assured Plankton, his voice a gentle wave lapping at the shore of his anxiety. "You're almost there." Plankton inhaled another lungful of gas, his eye fluttering closed. The nurse gently began applying the topical numbing agent, her movements carefully choreographed to avoid any sudden jolts. Karen held his other hand, her thumb tracing comforting circles on his palm. "You're safe," she whispered. "I'm here." The gas grew heavier, his mind drifted further from the cold reality of the room. He felt himself sinking into the chair, the weighted blanket now a warm sea of comfort. His grip on Karen's hand grew looser, his breaths deepening. The doctor nodded to the anesthesiologist, who began the IV drip after using the topical numbing agent. Plankton's fear didn't vanish, but it became manageable, a distant thunderstorm rather than a hurricane in his face. His eye closed completely, his body going limp under the blanket. Karen watched as the surgical team moved with precision, their masks and caps dancing in her peripheral vision. The beeping of machines and the murmur of medical jargon filled her ears, but all she focused on was the rhythm of Plankton's breathing. The anesthesiologist checked the monitors and gave a nod. "He's ready," she said quietly. Dr. Marquez took his position, his gloved hands poised over Plankton's now open mouth after removing the gas mask. Karen's gaze was steady, her love and support unwavering as the surgical team moved in unison. The whirring of the instruments began, a soft mechanical lullaby to the background of Plankton's deep, even breaths. The surgery itself was a dance of precision, each gesture a step carefully choreographed to minimize discomfort. The doctor's hands were steady as he removed the wisdom teeth. Karen could see the tense lines in Plankton's face soften under the influence of the anesthesia. The anesthesiologist checked the monitors continuously, ensuring his vital signs remained steady. The nurse offered Karen a chair, but she chose to stand, her eyes never leaving Plankton's face. As the surgery progressed, Karen felt the tension in the room ease. The surgical team worked with efficiency, their movements synchronized like a well-oiled machine. Dr. Marquez spoke in hushed tones with his assistants, each word a gentle whisper in the symphony of medical sounds. Plankton's breaths steadied, the rhythmic beep of the heart monitor a soothing reminder that he was still with her, that his anxiety had been replaced by the peacefulness of deep sedation. The doctor's instruments continued to dance, a silent ballet of precision and care. The nurse occasionally glanced at Karen, offering a reassuring smile as they suture his gums with dissolving stitches. "Alright, we're all done," Dr. Marquez announced, his voice a gentle interruption to the symphony of beeps and whirs. "Let's wake him up slowly." Karen felt her own heart rate spike as the anesthesiologist began reversing the medication. They removed the IV drip and the nurse wiped Plankton's mouth with a soft cloth, her touch as gentle as a sea anemone caressing his skin. His eye flickered open, unfocused and hazy. He blinked slowly, taking in the surroundings. Karen's screen was the first thing he saw, a beacon in the medical fog. "You're okay," she murmured, her voice the gentle hum of a distant lighthouse guiding his consciousness back to shore. Plankton blinked again, his vision swimming into focus. The weighted blanket was still wrapped around him, the comforting pressure now a grounding reminder of her presence. His mouth felt foreign, as if it belonged to someone else. The nurse offered him water, and he sipped it slowly, feeling the coolness soothe his throat. "How do you feel?" Dr. Marquez asked, his voice a soft wave breaking over the shore of Plankton's awareness. Plankton nodded, his grip on Karen's hand firm. "Good," he managed to murmur, his voice thick with the aftermath of the anesthesia. Karen could see the relief in his eye, the storm of fear now a distant memory. ( emojicombos.com/neurofabulous )

https://www.femininesexualalchemy.com/blog/smear-test

https://www.cancer.gov/news-events/cancer-currents-blog/2020/cervical-cancer-screening-hpv-test-guideline#:~:text=ACS%20recommends%20cervical%20cancer%20screening,Pap%20test%20every%203%20years.

ᴴᵃᵖᵖʸ ᶜʰʳⁱˢᵗᵐᵃˢ ᵗᵒ ᵐᵉ! ⁽ᔆᵖᵒⁿᵍᵉᴮᵒᵇ ᶠᵃⁿᶠⁱᶜ⁾ ᔆᵉᵉᵐˢ ˡⁱᵏᵉ ˢᵏⁱᵖᵖᵉᵈ ᵗʰᵉ ᶜʰᵘᵐ ᵇᵘᶜᵏᵉᵗ ᵈᵘᵉ ᵗᵒ ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ ᶜᵒⁿˢᵗᵃⁿᵗˡʸ ᵖˡᵒᵗᵗⁱⁿᵍ‧ ᔆᵖᵒᵗ ᵏⁿᵉʷ ʰⁱˢ ᵒʷⁿᵉʳ ᶜᵃⁿ ᵇᵉ ᵍᵒᵒᵈ ᵃᵗ ᵗⁱᵐᵉˢ ᵇᵘᵗ ⁿᵒᵗ ⁱⁿ ᵖᵘᵇˡⁱᶜ ⁱᵐᵃᵍᵉ‧ ᔆᵖᵒᵗ ᵗʰᵉ ᵃᵐᵒᵉᵇᵃ ᵖᵘᵖᵖʸ ᶠᵉˡᵗ ᵇᵃᵈ ᶠᵒʳ ᵇᵉⁱⁿᵍ ᵉˣᶜⁱᵗᵉᵈ ᶠᵒʳ ᶜʰʳⁱˢᵗᵐᵃˢ ᵈᵉˢᵖⁱᵗᵉ ᵇᵉⁱⁿᵍ ᵒⁿ ᵗʰᵉ ⁿᵃᵘᵍʰᵗʸ ˡⁱˢᵗ! 'ᴵ ᵍᵒᵗᵗᵃ ᵍᵉᵗ ʰⁱᵐ ᵃ ᵍⁱᶠᵗ ᵗʰᵉⁿ' ᔆᵖᵒᵗ ᵗʰⁱⁿᵏˢ‧ ᴴᵉ ᶜʰᵉᶜᵏᵉᵈ ᵒⁿ ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ‧ ᔆᵖᵒᵗ'ˢ ʳᵉˡⁱᵉᵛᵉᵈ ᵗᵒ ˢᵉᵉ ʰⁱᵐ ᵃˢˡᵉᵉᵖ ʷⁱᵗʰ ʰⁱˢ ᵐᵒᵘᵗʰ ᵇᵃʳᵉˡʸ ᵒᵖᵉⁿ ᵃˢ ʰᵉ ˢⁿᵒʳᵉᵈ ᵃ ˡⁱᵗᵗˡᵉ‧ ᔆᵒ ⁿᵒʷ⸴ ᔆᵖᵒᵗ ˢⁿᵉᵃᵏˢ ᵒᵘᵗ‧ ᴴᵉ ʰᵉᵃʳᵈ ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ ᶜᵒᵐᵖˡᵃⁱⁿ ᵉᵃʳˡⁱᵉʳ ᵃᵇᵒᵘᵗ ⁿᵉᵉᵈⁱⁿᵍ ᵗᵒᵒˡˢ ᶠᵒʳ ʰⁱˢ ˡᵃᵇᵒʳᵃᵗᵒʳʸ ᵉˣᵖᵉʳⁱᵐᵉⁿᵗˢ⸴ ˢᵒ ʰᵉ ᵍᵒᵗᵗᵃ ᵗᵒᵒˡ ᵇᵒˣ ᵃⁿᵈ ᵇʳᵒᵘᵍʰᵗ ⁱᵗ ᵇᵃᶜᵏ ⁱⁿ ʷⁱᵗʰ ᵃ ʷᵃᵍᵍᵒⁿ‧ ᴬᶠᵗᵉʳ ʷʳᵃᵖᵖⁱⁿᵍ ⁱᵗ⸴ ʰᵉ ᵗʳⁱᵉᵈ ᵗᵒ ᵍᵉᵗ ᵗʰᵉ ᵗᵒᵒˡ ᵇᵒˣ ʰᵉ ʷʳᵃᵖᵖᵉᵈ ᵒᵘᵗ ᵒᶠ ᵗʰᵉ ʷᵃᵍᵍᵒⁿ‧ ᔆᵖᵒᵗ ˢⁱᵍʰˢ⸴ ᵗⁱˡᵗⁱⁿᵍ ˢᵃⁱᵈ ʷᵃᵍᵍᵒⁿ ᵗᵒ ᵍᵉᵗ ⁱᵗ ᵒᵘᵗ‧ ᴴᵉ ʲᵘˢᵗ ᵗᵒ ˢˡⁱᵈᵉ ⁱᵗ ᵘⁿᵈᵉʳ ᵗʰᵉ ᶜʰʳⁱˢᵗᵐᵃˢ ᵗʳᵉᵉ ᵇʸ ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ'ˢ ᵇᵉᵈ ʷⁱᵗʰᵒᵘᵗ ʷᵃᵏⁱⁿᵍ ʰⁱᵐ ᵘᵖ‧ ᵀʰᵉ ᵍⁱᶠᵗ ᶠⁱⁿᵃˡˡʸ ᶠᵉˡˡ ᵒᵘᵗ ᵒᶠ ᵗʰᵉ ʷᵃᵍᵍᵒⁿ ᵐᵃᵏⁱⁿᵍ ᵃ ᵗʰᵘᵈ ⁿᵒⁱˢᵉ ᵈᵒⁱⁿᵍ ˢᵒ‧ ᔆᵖᵒᵗ ʰᵉˢⁱᵗᵃᵗᵉᵈ⸴ ˡᵒᵒᵏⁱⁿᵍ ⁿᵒʷ ᵃᵗ ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ‧‧ "‧‧‧ʸ’ʷᵃⁿⁿᵃ ᵍᵉᵗ ᶠᵒʳ ᶜʰʳⁱˢᵗᵐᵃˢ‧‧‧" ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ ˢˡᵉᵉᵖᵗᵃˡᵏˢ ᵃˢ ʰᵉ ʳᵒˡˡˢ ᵗᵒ ʰⁱˢ ˢⁱᵈᵉ ᵇᵉᶠᵒʳᵉ ʰᵉ ˢᵗᵃʳᵗˢ ˢⁿᵒʳⁱⁿᵍ ᵃᵍᵃⁱⁿ‧ ᔆᵖᵒᵗ ˢⁱᵍʰᵉᵈ ⁱⁿ ʳᵉˡⁱᵉᶠ⸴ ᵗᵃᵏⁱⁿᵍ ᵗʰᵉ ʷᵃᵍᵍᵒⁿ ᵒᵘᵗ‧ ᵀʰᵉ ⁿᵉˣᵗ ᵐᵒʳⁿⁱⁿᵍ⸴ ᔆᵖᵒᵗ ʷᵃᵗᶜʰᵉˢ ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ ᵒᵖᵉⁿ ʰⁱˢ ᶜʰʳⁱˢᵗᵐᵃˢ ᵖʳᵉˢᵉⁿᵗ‧ "ᴶᵘˢᵗ ʷʰᵃᵗ ᴵ ⁿᵉᵉᵈᵉᵈ!" ᔆᵖᵒᵗ ʷᵃᵍˢ ʰⁱˢ ᵗᵃⁱˡ‧ ╰ ✧ ･ﾟ∙ ∗ — ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ ⟨ 2 1 6